


this collab is overdue (still I wanna be with you)

by rev_eeriee



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Confessions, Dirty Talk, Hand Job, M/M, Online Friendship, Ouma is a fanartist, Pre-Game Personalities (New Dangan Ronpa V3), Saihara is a Fanfiction writer, Saihara is a disaster bisexual, Saihara ships Nagihiko, cannibalism mention, paraphilia mention, somnophilia mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 03:08:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21367180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rev_eeriee/pseuds/rev_eeriee
Summary: Weeks ago, Saihara himself wouldn’t have believed Team Danganronpa when they told him what kind of person he was before he became the Ultimate Detective, but now... slowly, he was starting to see it.See it. Not acknowledge, not accept. All because of this problem that was slowly becoming apparent to him. It was troublesome, almost laughable in fact. Regardless, it still brought him distress. Of all the bad things he had gone through... he couldn't believe this would be thing that would make him want to hide under a rock and be erased from existence.Everyone was so goddamn attractive.--AKA. Postgame. Saihara is a disaster. Ouma draws stuff.
Relationships: Ouma Kokichi/Saihara Shuuichi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 213





	this collab is overdue (still I wanna be with you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hyacinthium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyacinthium/gifts).

> This is a very old fanfic that I wrote for Hyacinthium. I decided to just post it now, in case other people are interested.

Saihara Shuuichi has a _ problem _.

Sure: to some, it may come off as small and inconsequential, especially after the ordeals and trials he had gone through just a few weeks prior. Surviving and ending Danganronpa in and of itself was such a big achievement that one would think it'd eclipse all the other complications that followed after but no—that’s not how life worked, unfortunately. The world did not suddenly become _ okay _right after they took off that VR headset. Now that everyone was awake, all sixteen young adults struggling to cope with all the trauma and conflict and identity crises, Saihara’s once idle pre-Danganronpa life was now filled with clamor and chaos.

Uncertainty. Anger. Outrage. Discord. Insecurity. All these feelings rose to the surface, feeding the tension of each and every one of their goddamn failed attempts at group therapy. Clashing beliefs, hurtful words, stubborn pride—everyone was still trying (and failing) to swallow the fact that the reason they were in the game in the first place was because they _ wanted _ it, they yearned for it, they worked hard for the auditions and earned it. Weeks ago, Saihara himself wouldn’t have believed Team Danganronpa when they told him what kind of person he was before he became the Ultimate Detective, but now... slowly, he was starting to see it.

_ See _ it. Not acknowledge, not accept. All because of this _ problem _ that was slowly becoming apparent to him. It was troublesome, almost laughable in fact. Regardless, it still brought him distress. Of all the bad things he had gone through... he couldn't believe this would be thing that would make him want to hide under a rock and be erased from existence _ . _

Everyone was so goddamn _ attractive _.

He really shouldn't be surprised. Of course Team Danganronpa would choose applicants that would look good on camera, people that the audience would fall for. Paired with a good character design were good looks to match. It's not like Saihara never thought that the entire cast (even _ Hoshi _ , dammit) had their own charm that was really going to be the death of someone like him: a disaster bisexual. It's just that—ever since he stepped out of the virtual reality, his attraction to basically everyone had been so confusing and _ unreasonable _. 

He shouldn't find Akamatsu glaring at him as if he's scum attractive. He shouldn't get hot and bothered when Momota throws a violent fit in one of their group sessions. And by _ god _, he shouldn't get a fucking boner at the sight of Ouma playing with knives.

(How Ouma got ahold of those in the Team Danganronpa facility was still a mystery. As was the reason why he'd been toting around what looked like a sketchpad as of late.) 

The incidents of Saihara catching himself ogling at something that shouldn't be ogled at or fantasizing about things that _ really _ shouldn't be fantasized about only grew in number as the days went by. His only solace was Team Danganronpa’s reassurance that this wouldn't be permanent. Whatever their previous personalities were, they were not going to come back in full and overtake their bodies— a few blips were expected yes, but nothing more aside from that.

Still, these 'blips' make things complicated. They often come with glimpses of memories—of his room full of merchandise that he really should burn to the ground once he gets back, of his closet full of cosplays that remind him too much of Shirogane to not throw up, of his laptop full of drafts of fanfiction that he hadn't had the chance to finish before he was consensually kidnapped.

He supposed it was safe to say that past-him was a hardcore fanboy, but it’s not like his audition tape hadn't confirmed that already.

Saihara wanted to tell himself that he couldn't remember any of the stories he had written. The problem was: he could. Not all that much, but _ enough _ . And sometimes, in the middle of the night when the nurses were finished with their rounds and his bathroom was locked and silent and _ private _, he wanted to tell himself that he wasn't thinking along the lines of the degeneracy that he knew his past self had inflicted upon the internet.

(But that would be a lie, and he wasn't Ouma Kokichi.)

* * *

While the hospital that Team Danganronpa had put them in sometimes felt like a prison, they were not cut off from the outside world, not exactly. They were allowed an hour of access to a telephone and a shared computer over in their lounge area, and while their calls and internet activity were closely monitored, it was better than nothing.

Saihara usually helps himself to the phone, if only to call his uncle and inform him that yes, he was alive and doing fine—but once day, an urge hit him. The urge to confirm if the things he remembered were correct. A part of him was even wondering if maybe, just _ maybe _, they were just a figment of his imagination. That would be quite reassuring, wouldn’t it?

He swallowed hard and sat in front of the computer, glancing at the staff who side-eyed him, letting out a shaky breath as he logged in a familiar account in a familiar fanwork-sharing website.

He held his breath until the page loaded.

**Welcome, DumplingGore!**

Followers (276) Inbox (19) Comments (327) Works (94)

Fandoms: Danganronpa- All Media Types 

Saihara slumped against his chair, disappointed with himself. How could he have hoped to get anything other than _ this _, really? If he wasn't a fan of Danganronpa, there was no way he'd audition for the game anyway. He sighed heavily, hand reaching up for the hat that was no longer there, both dread and curiosity curling around the edges of his being. 

"Ninety-four works, huh..." he murmured to himself. A mountain of fanfics totaling to around half a million words. He'd been busy. Or rather... passionate.

He didn't know what to feel anymore, so he let his own hands wander for him. He scrolled down along his list of works and absentmindedly checked the tags. There was quite a variety here that would have impressed him if the word ‘Danganronpa’ didn't already prelude an instinctive kick in his gut. He could only barely remember the plot of the earlier seasons, but he vaguely recognized some names. He only feel sicker when the realization hit—he wrote about _ actual people _ —people who suffered through the killing game, not unlike himself. The game may be a lie, but everything they felt in there was real. That was real terror and agony and suffering that his past self was celebrating. _ Disgusting. _

The line between reality and fiction was blurry. While he may have ignored it in the past, now he couldn’t help but be hyper-aware of his own hypocrisy. 

Thankfully, as if taking pity on him, the names on the tags slowly changed. It seemed at one point he was enamored with the original games, the ones Shirogane cosplayed back in the sixth trial, the characters that were purely characters and had no human counterpart whatsoever. The memory of Shirogane zipping through their characters made him feel uneasy, but not terrible in comparison to the utter dread that the works he’d seen earlier had given him. Curiously, he clicked one of the links and opened it in another tab, half-wondering what kind of things he actually wrote about, or if he was actually any good as a writer at all—

> “K-Kuzuryuu-kun!” Komaeda gasped, arching his back as the Ultimate Yakuza entered him. Ah, he felt full, fuller than he ever had before and for good reason— Kuzuryuu was actually big for his size. One would never dare call him ‘baby gangsta’ once they saw the cock that endowed the young man, the cock that was now splitting Komaeda apart. He let out a cry as he felt Kuzuryuu tighten the knife that was aimed at his neck, teeth gritting as he thrusted harder, forcing his body to take it even with the unfortunate lack of lubrication—
> 
> “Shhh— shut up you bastard!” he hissed. “Shut up and take it. You like it, anyway—don’t you dare lie to me. You’re not telling anyone about this you hear? If you start babbling to others **I’ll kill you**—” 
> 
> Komaeda nearly laughed when he felt the knife dig against his skin, creating a perfect line against his neck, gushing droplets of crimson. Ha, how funny it was to think that Kuzuryuu thought he’d need to threaten him. Komaeda **wanted ** this. To be used like this, for the sake of hope— it didn’t matter what he did to him. In fact, Komaeda would **prefer **he take it further, further and further— until he was nothing but pleasure and flesh and blood. Until he could forget how much of a worthless trash he truly was. All he wanted was— 

Saihara immediately closed the tab and recoiled as if the mouse was on fire. The staff member that was watching him gave him a strange look. 

"Everything alright, Saihara-san?" she politely asked. Saihara nodded too quickly. 

"A-Ah, yes! Yes, everything is. Um. Everything is... alright. I was just... uh... I was..." he swallowed hard, wishing for the first time in a long while that he had his hat to hide under. His cheeks were burning, body feeling hot from what he just read. He was pretty sure he was already half-hard in his pants. God, this was awkward. "I was just... looking into my... old stuff."

The staff member glanced at the monitor, noting the website, before going back to the magazine she was reading. "You are still under a non-disclosure agreement, Saihara-san," she reminded him. "Keep your interaction to your old friends at a minimum. Team Danganronpa can and will sue you, should you try anything funny." 

"Yes, ma'am," Saihara replied, going back to the screen, intending to log off and call it a day. What she said hit a nerve in him though, a realization that they would actually _ allow _ him to talk to someone online, as long as he did not disclose certain information. That was... interesting. Come to think of it—

_ How long has it been since we last talked...? _

Hesitant, he clicked on his inbox. Ignoring all the other messages (usually from fans of his work expressing their love or some old acquaintance asking him where the hell he's been in the past six months), he found the person he was looking for. He clicked on the name, feeling his lips twitch at his friend's cutesy, purple icon. There weren't any messages from him, which was a bummer, but he reread their most recent conversation regardless, knowing that scrolling too far up would be dangerous territory, considering all the things the two of them have talked about.

Or more accurately: _ roleplayed _ about.

Just the thought was making Saihara blush.

**DumplingGore**: heya chi, I got news 

**NervousKimchi**: :eyes:

**DumplingGore**: I actually can't talk about it yet, but I'm gonna have to go into hiatus for a whole 

**DumplingGore**: *while

**DumplingGore**: I got a uhh

**DumplingGore**: a job? I guess? you could say that 

**NervousKimchi**: aw

**NervousKimchi**: u still gonna message tho?? 

**DumplingGore**: actually I can't 

**DumplingGore**: its a full time... thing 

Saihara frowned. At the time, he had already signed the NDA and was just waiting for his kidnappers to come. He remembered the conversation happening a few days earlier than the actual start of the Danganronpa season, but he would rather tell him early than not have a chance to and just ghost out. Chi was... kind of a close friend. They may not know each other's faces, but he treasured him. Hell, maybe even _ liked _ him, though that's just a bit…

**NervousKimchi**: how long?

**DumplingGore**: I don't... know yet

**NervousKimchi**: go for it! 

**NervousKimchi**: don't worry, I won't be lonely ;P 

**NervousKimchi**: i actually have to take a break for a bit too 

**NervousKimchi**: yanno... life 

**DumplingGore**: talk to you later? After the thing is over. It's exciting actually, can't wait to tell you all about it! 

**NervousKimchi**: sure! don't forget me. you still owe me that collab >:D

**DumplingGore**: okay. Later, chi :)

**NervousKimchi**: see you around, dummi <3 

His last message was six months ago. Saihara's hands hovered above the keyboard.

[Hi.]

Two letters and a period. Saihara chewed on his bottom lip, unsure if sending it was even a good idea. From what he remembered, Chi, like himself, was a die-hard fan as well. He was a fan artist and a damned good one. Every once in a while he draws some of the scenes in Saihara's stories. His interests matched Saihara's in a way that... well, he was not shy to the idea of drawing exposed entrails and amputated limbs, for one. Their friendship did not stop at simply that, however. Their shared interests were merely a spark. They had talked about a lot of things, vented at each other, gave advice and supported one another. If it was possible at all, Saihara would like to preserve that friendship. Unfortunately, he wasn't exactly the same person he was six months ago.

To make matters worse, if Chi found out that he was Saihara Shuuichi, the person who ruined Danganronpa for everyone else, then... who's to say that he won't hate him? 

_ He doesn't have to know who I am, _ he reasoned with himself. _ I could just… pretend. _

Yeah, as if that would work. 

Sighing, he deleted his message, logging out.

"Fiiiinally! Oh my god, Saihara-chan! You sure took your time!" Someone said dramatically beside him, trying to peek over his shoulder. Saihara yelped and immediately closed the tab, gaping at the person who interrupted him.

"O-Ouma-kun?!"

Suddenly, he was grateful that he was surfing incognito, because the mere thought of Ouma going back to the history, finding out about his old hobbies and god forbid, reading his old fanfics made him shudder. The ex-Supreme Leader didn't seem very interested in finding out what he’s been up to though. He was preoccupied with pushing Saihara out of the chair. Saihara relented easily, and Ouma looked pleased, making himself comfortable.

"My hour isn't up yet, Ouma-kun," he complained, frowning at him. Ouma rolled his eyes.

"Gee, who cares? You're already about to leave anyway, right? Right? Now shoo, I've got important, Supreme Leader-y things to do. Like search for the latest DR news, post protests and online petitions, or start world domination!"

The staff member gave Ouma a very stern look, but Ouma didn’t seem pertubed.

Saihara sighed. Even outside the game, Ouma was still as annoying as ever. The playful persona of his ingame character stuck to him like glue... and to be honest, Saihara was kinda jealous. He didn't seem to have much problems mediating between his pregame and ingame selves, unlike the rest of them. 

"I’ll just... leave you to do whatever, then." Saihara replied, suddenly tired. It was certainly a bad idea to try and dig up things about his pregame personality. Now, he just felt depressed. Ouma already looked busy with... well, playing free online games, it seemed. He started for the door, leaving Ouma be. "Later, Ouma-kun.” 

He did not see the way Ouma's eyes followed him all the way until he was out of the room.

"See you around, Saihara-chan."

* * *

It started a few days later.

The first time it happened, Saihara was caught completely off guard. It was a around half an hour before lights-out, and he was just on his way back to his room, when found a piece of paper lying down on the hallway. Curious, he picked it up and turned it over, nearly having a heart attack. It was... a drawing. No more than a messy doodle, but despite the lack of color, he was able to just make it out— a body. A male body. With one leg cut off. Bleeding. Back arched. Tied up. Posed suggestively.

Praise be to all the gods of ero guro, he was _ hard _.

He had no idea where the drawing came from. At the time, he thought that it was probably one of the staff or something. Taking it back to his room was not his proudest moment, but he had to admit that despite everything, the orgasm was worth it. 

It would have been nice if it had stopped right there. Just one random picture that he happened to get lucky and pick up. But soon enough, he realized that was not the case. 

It happened again. And again. And again. Artworks ranging from pencil doodles to the occasional splash of red ink. Papers ranging from lined to printer papers and the occasional tissue. It was driving him crazy in more ways than one, and around the fifth time it happened, he was more than certain— someone, out there, was purposefully _ harassing _ him. He didn't know who would do it, or why—but he had his suspicions. A suspicion that was finally confirmed when he came back to his room one day, to see _ another _ erotic picture on his bedside, along with a sticky note written in purple ink: 

[**Geez, you're so slow it's draining the fun out of it. Don't be so cold to an old friend, Saihara-chan!**]

The artwork was drawn on a paper that seemed to be torn off of a spiral-bound sketchbook. The honorific, the color of the ink, the mirth in the tone of the note-giver. There was only one person he could think of.

_ Ouma-kun. _

Oh god. Oh no, oh no, oh _ fuck _ —he should have been more careful. Ouma saw it, didn't he? He must have seen it back then, taken a peek on the computer screen before he made his presence known. Saihara knew that all Ouma needed to dig up on his previous interests was his username, especially since his account was public. Oh god, he was so stupid. What was he going to do now? Ouma couldn't be trusted with keeping this a secret. Everyone would find out. Everyone would see how _ sick _ and _ disgusting _ Saihara was, and that's just— 

He covered his mouth and hated himself even more when his throat let out a soft whimper. His body felt hot just at the prospect. God, what kind of sick fuck gets off on the idea of people finding out the extent of his depravity? Him, apparently. Shaking his head to rid himself of these... _ weird _ thoughts, he did his best to focus on the threat of the present.

He didn't know how he'd go about making sure Ouma kept his mouth shut, but one thing was for sure: he wouldn't be able to do it while standing like a idiot in the safety of his room. 

He needed to talk to him, and he needed to do it _ now _.

Letting out a shaky breath, Saihara resigned himself to his fate, adjusting his arousal in his pants before he strode out of his room with a determined expression. It was easy to pretend that the flush that graced his cheeks as he powerwalked through the hallways were born from indignance, not anticipation. He was angry, yes—but along with that was also a cocktail of embarrassment and lust that was not at all a good combination. Common courtesy forgotten (not that Ouma deserved it given the shit he was pulling), he slammed Ouma's room door open, hackles raised as he stared at him with grim resolve.

"Ouma-kun," he managed not to stutter.

Ouma, who was at the moment already comfortably tucked into his bed, looked amused as he raised himself on his elbows. His purple eyes were alight with mischief and amusement. "Oh? Saihara-chan! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Saihara swallowed hard. The piece of paper in his hand weighed him down. "I know what you're doing.”

Ouma blinked innocently, placing a finger on his cheek with a confused expression that Saihara would have bought if there wasn't already a ghost of a smile playing on those pink lips. "Well, it's quite the relief that you do, isn't it—because I sure hell don't! What's up, Saihara-chan?"

"Don't play dumb with me!" Saihara exclaimed, his cheeks flushing further. "What are... why are you sending me... since when are you even—”

"Good at drawing?" Ouma tilted his head, grinning. "Let's see... since the beginning of time! Geez, Saihara-chan. Don't you dare lie and tell me you've never seen my work before."

Now that he mentioned it, Saihara remembered back in the game, shortly after the fifth trial, briefly looking through boxes upon boxes of fake blueprints that Ouma had prepared. Ouma surely had made a point to make the blueprints seem very childish at the time, but the ones he put real effort in looked sleek and well-drafted, impressively so. Saihara scowled, taking a step back when Ouma shifted to sit on the edge of his bed, his heart skipping a beat as he found himself watching the young man bite his lip around a grin. 

_ No, bad brain _ , he reminded himself, ignoring the burn in his cheeks. _ Focus on talking, not ogling. _

Unfortunately, Ouma seemed to notice. The ex-Supreme Leader lifted an eyebrow curiously, and it was all Saihara could do to not spontaneously combust. He seemed to mull it over, before letting out a cackle as he slid down his bed, feet meeting the cold, tiled floor. The grin that had been playing on his lips ever since Saihara stepped into the room only widened. Saihara fumbled, trying to talk about something, anything. It was really hard though, especially with Ouma walking closer, slowly, like a predator to its prey.

Saihara squeaked. "So you're good at drawing anatomy too. I get the point. Can you... can you please stop now—" his voice was cut off with a mewl as he took another step back, his knees crumpling. He would have fallen to the ground if it wasn't for the door against his back keeping him steady. Ouma was so close now, ignoring common manners and decency, as he leaned in far too close for personal comfort. Saihara shrinked under his gaze. "O-Ouma-kun..." his tone was complaining.

"Oh, I'm listening," Ouma said cheekily, not once taking a step back to give Saihara his personal space. "You were saying?"

"Stop giving me these... these drawings! They're really... ah, t-they're really—"

"Distracting? Disturbing?" Ouma's eyes were hooded, knowing. "Sexy?"

Saihara covered his face and whimpered, stumbling over his words to try and deny it. Ouma burst out laughing.

"You're soooo cute, Saihara-chan! And so dumb too! I can't believe I even _ like _ you.”

Saihara froze, mouth falling open. _ What? _

"Don't tell me you _ still _ haven't figured it out! What kind of detective are you?" Ouma giggled. "You really are a big dummy."

Saihara stared at Ouma with a disbelieving stare, unable to figure out if his ears were playing tricks on him. He still hasn't processed that quick and nonchalant confession, the kind of confession that only someone like Ouma can dish out. _ I can't believe I even like you. _ Just like that, Saihara's world was turned upside down. He couldn't help but agree with Ouma though. _ Why _ would someone like the Ouma Kokichi even like him in any way? They have never gotten along well in the killing game, save for the few free time events they spent together. And it's not like they have gotten close outside Danganronpa anyway, after all shit had hit the fan. They were just acquaintances, a little more than strangers, so why would he even…?

Ouma was staring at him expectantly, as if he was urging him just to _ get _ it. As if he was a phantom thief that had just tossed about all the clues to his identity, and he was just waiting for his detective to finally figure it out.

Eventually, something inside Saihara clicked. He took a sharp inhale.

No, not dummy. _ Dummi _.

"...Chi-chan...?" Saihara couldn't help but ask, even more disbelief drowning him. He couldn't be... could he? That was just insane, to find out that his beloved online friend was... this person. Ouma Kokichi. NervousKimchi. The artist. _ What _? But the look on Ouma's face said it all. He looked incredibly pleased, the grin on his lips becoming even more vibrant and excited. Saihara couldn't believe it. Ouma was right—he supposed was indeed stupid. He should have recognized the art style, should have realized the intent. Did that mean that the 'break' Chi mentioned was...? 

"You... you auditioned in Danganronpa without telling me?!" 

Ouma rolled his eyes. "Oh come on. You didn't tell me what you were up to either. There's a non-disclosure agreement, remember? The nasty things." He wrinkled his nose, leaning in towards him again with interest. "I have to say that I didn't expect this though! Here I was wondering how to turn down the collab we were looking forward to a few months back. I was so sure my beloved Dummi would be so furious about what happened to Danganronpa."

Saihara's mouth felt dry. "I-I... I thought _ you'd _ be mad at _ me _... if Chi-chan found out—"

"Glad to see we're in agreement then! No more smexy gore-y sex fanfics, I'm afraid." Ouma tilted his head. "No more self-indulgent ero guro fanart either."

Saihara tried to mask his disappointment. Ouma was right, of course, but... he shook the thought out of his head. "Y-Yeah. Yeah, you're right."

"But then again, is it really fanart if I draw _ you _ getting all hot and bothered as someone fucked your entrails until you bleed out? I'm not a fan after all. Merely... a friend."

Saihara sputtered. "O-Oum... Chi-chan—"

Ouma giggled as he suddenly held him by the collar and pulled him down, his lips ghosting against the shell of Saihara's ear. "I can do that, you know. I'll draw it just for my beloved Saihara-chan. All you gotta do is _ ask _."

_ Holy fuck _ . Saihara let out a small whimper, a heat flashing through his body again, starting in his groin. Ouma couldn't possibly mean that, but there he was, grinning like the devil he was. Saihara couldn't help it when his knees buckled again, he really couldn't— and this time Ouma used the opportunity to actually pull him further _ down _, so that he was crumbling down onto his ass on the ground, with Ouma looming above him. Saihara's eyes widened as Ouma straddled him, pale fingers caressing his jaw. He nuzzled their noses together, a sly grin on his face. Saihara was going to hyperventilate.

Ouma bit his lip again, amused by the expression on his face. Saihara could only wonder what he looked like at the moment. Ouma whispered. "Saihara-chan. _ Breathe. _"

Saihara gasped, realizing only then that his head was starting to hurt from everything that just occurred. What he wouldn't give for a moment to process this, but Ouma wasn't giving him the chance. His head was spinning, and Ouma was staring, smiling, _ expectant _. There was nothing Saihara could do but say it—the words that were begging to be released from his mouth. 

"I-I like you too," he stuttered, his cheeks burning brighter and brighter—so much that he wondered if at one point he'd just melt into a blob of goo. "I like you too! I lot. As Chi-chan. As Ouma-kun, I'm not sure—but I don't hate you, I never really did, it was just so hard to understand you—"

Ouma kissed him.

Okay, okay. Now, Saihara _ had _ to be melting. That's the only explanation right? The only explanation for why his body was now relaxing into Ouma's touch and leaning closer to his comfort, the reason why he felt like his brain was turning to mush. Ouma kissed him and Saihara did not waste time and kissed him back, his head too muddled to even be giddy about it. He answered each movement of his mouth with an appreciative hum, not caring about anything else at the present. 

When Ouma finally pulled back, Saihara was dazed. He vaguely processed that Ouma had started kissing down his neck, and holy shit, he couldn’t just _ not _ crane his head to the side to give him access. What was happening, what was happening now? Ouma was moaning enthusiastically against his skin as his hands wandered beneath Saihara's shirt. Saihara could feel his own hands feeling Ouma up, one of them even daring to unbutton his pajama top— 

Saihara swallowed hard. "Are we... are we? Right now? We're— _ Kokichi _—" It was the first time that he even dared call Ouma by his first name. The syllables felt like velvet underneath his tongue, and the moan Ouma let out was encouraging.

"We are, yeah. We are," Ouma whispered against his skin. "We're lovers now, Sai— _ Shuuichi _-chan. Now be a good boy and take your shirt off."

Saihara let out a gasp. Did he just call him—good boy, good boy, Saihara wanted to be good— those two words were the undoing of him. They were familiar, so pleasurably familiar— those two words were Chi's endearment to him too, when they roleplay erotic scenes together and pretended they were not imagining each other.

Saihara babbled as he took the hem of his shirt and lifted it over his head. He wasn't sure what he was saying anymore, but Ouma chuckled good-naturedly and shut him up with another kiss.

Saihara was flying. Ouma was feeling him up. He hissed when he felt those fingers touch his hard cock over his pants, and cried out when a set of nibbly teeth decided to graze against his nipple. Ouma was playing his body like a fiddle, and he was nothing but putty in his hands. He let out a low moan and tried to reciprocate, but even if he couldn't, Ouma seemed to be enjoying himself, regardless. 

"Remember when we use to talk all the time, Saihara-chan?" Ouma asked as he rubbed a finger insistently against the tip of Saihara's cock, straining and making a wet spot through his cotton pants. "We talked and talked and talked way into the morning, about the latest Danganronpa news, fanworks, everything under the sun. It was so fun, hm? The things we talked about, the things we wanted to do.."

Saihara whimpered. "Kokichi-kun..."

"It's too bad, isn't it? We found ourselves contestants of Danganronpa in the same season, but I think we underestimated how horrible it could actually be once you're inside. Though if it was up to me, I really would have liked it better if you had the chance to fuck my mangled body under the press—I won't feel it of course, but I bet you would have loved—"

Saihara shut his eyes and arched his back, crying out. "K-Kokichi—"

"—it even if you couldn't remember! Or, oh wait—my bad. Maybe it's me who's forgetting. You liked being the submitting one, don't you? What can I say now to get you off? I remember having an array of choices to taunt you with, before. Let's see—knife play, breath play, skull fucking, _ cannibalism _—" He leaned in and bit into Saihara's shoulder, hard. Saihara cried out. Ouma let out a soft giggle, before he leaned in to whisper in his ear.

"Ah, Shuu-chan. If only I can eat you all up—"

That was Saihara's breaking point.

He came _ hard _, harder than what was probably reasonable, given that all Ouma used were his mouth and a finger. He didn’t even take off his pants! Any other time, Saihara would have been mortified, but now he simply couldn't be, not when Ouma was staring at him with such pride in his eyes. 

"Good boy," he praised. Saihara keened.

"'T-Thank you. Thank you, sir..." he breathed. Ouma leaned in and kissed his forehead. He felt a warmth well from inside his body, and he smiled contentedly, even as Ouma helped him up onto his feet, even as he wobbled into the bed, uncaring for the mess on the inside of his pants. All he wanted to do was sleep, at that moment. But he couldn't. He should get back to his room. "The nurses—" he started.

"—are gonna have to deal with the fact that you're in my room. Don't mind them, Shuu-chan."

Saihara nodded slowly, getting comfortable. He realized that Ouma was still hard, and he would have felt guilty about it if he didn't know Ouma well enough. He gave him a shy smile. "You can fuck me in my sleep, you know."

Ouma cocked an eyebrow, and then slyly grinned. "I'm planning to."

Saihara giggled as Ouma kissed his forehead again. "Go to sleep. Good night and nice to meet you, Dummi."

Saihara closed his eyes. At that moment, everything felt right. 

"Yeah. Nice to meet you too, Chi-chan."


End file.
